


i give all my love i give all my life (just to become electrified)

by bibliomaniac



Series: with vigilant heart i'll push into the dark [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Body Worship, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, M/M, Wire Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2019-07-12 08:31:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15991514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bibliomaniac/pseuds/bibliomaniac
Summary: It occurred to Connor earlier that Hank might be interested in having sex with him. Technically he doesn't know whether that's even something he can manage, but he can certainly try.He just needs to proposition Hank, first.((aka connor is very indelicate about asking hank about sex and neither of them know what the hell they're doing but it works out))





	i give all my love i give all my life (just to become electrified)

**Author's Note:**

> title is from the song electricity (rush) by FMLYBND. this is basically an e-rated scene that comes directly after the end of the previous fic in this series, and it references some things from that fic, but you can read it without reading the previous one i should think! also if you're coming from the previous fic and don't want to read e-rated fic (or shouldn't be) then i can assure you this contains nothing important to the plot of the previous one. that shit's all wrapped up, this one is just smut and schmoop, my pals
> 
> cws should be pretty limited but just in case include body insecurity, discussion of consent, very brief mentions of ocd-adjacent thinking...i'd say innuendo but uhhhhh yeah i figure that's a given

Connor has very good ideas that are always well-thought out and carefully planned. It is, therefore, on the way home from the fundraiser that Connor raises the question he’s been pondering over since earlier. “Hank?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you want to have sex?”

Hank immediately chokes, hand spasming on the wheel and moving them off course for a brief moment. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he says, voice strangled. 

“With me, I mean,” Connor clarifies, in case the lack of specificity is what caused Hank’s shock.

“Holy fucking God al _mighty_ , Connor. I’m fucking—I’m _driving._ ” He’s only had two glasses of champagne, so his blush is unlikely to be due to the alcohol. Interesting.

“Well, yes. Obviously I am not asking if you are interested in intercourse occurring while you are still operating the car.” 

Hank chokes again, then starts coughing. Ah. It is because he said something suggestive, then. “Connor, please,” he says, voice weak, cheeks pink in the low light of the brake lights of the car ahead of them. “This is—we can talk about this when we get home. If you…” He takes a deep breath. “When we get home, okay?” 

His heart rate has increased by 15BPM. This isn’t particularly safe, and Connor suspects Hank’s driving will be distracted regardless of whether the conversation happens now or later, but he’s not going to push the issue. “Of course.”

By the time they get home, Hank’s heart rate has calmed somewhat, and they get back into the house without any difficulty. The door shuts, Hank locks it, and Connor says, “We are home.”

“Yeah—oh, _Christ._ Okay. Uh—God, I need to sit down for this.” 

This seems an awful lot of requirements for a simple conversation, but Connor does not protest, just lets Hank sit down and sits down next to him. He takes a deep breath, scrubbing his hands over his face. “Uh. Okay. Right. So—you—want to have sex?”

Connor blinks. “I was asking if _you_ did. Earlier today you called me a ‘tease’ when I said something that could be construed as sexually suggestive and then attempted to leave. And you’ve been looking at me with something similar to longing all night. And—”

“Okay, I get it,” Hank interrupts, blush climbing steadily up the back of his neck. “I—God. Connor. If you’re asking if I find you attractive in… _that_ way…then. Yeah. I mean, like. Obviously? But—also obviously, if it’s not something _you’re_ into, then it doesn’t matter. And you’ve never brought it up, so I assumed—”

“I have not brought it up because it never seemed particularly relevant. I wasn’t sure if you were interested in having sex with me, and…” Connor hesitates, feeling vaguely embarrassed for the first time since broaching the subject. “Well. Intercourse was not really…something my creators had in mind when forming my body. I am not even technically certain if I have pathways that might lead to physical pleasure.” 

“Oh,” Hank says slowly. “Yeah, I mean—that makes sense.” 

“It does, yes. And since I do not have these things by nature, I do not become aroused during the normal course of a day like someone with these capabilities might. So it doesn’t really cross my mind often, is what I mean, and I figured I would come back to it if I ever thought it were something you might be interested in discussing.” 

Hank is smiling, but it looks a bit pinched. “Con, like I said, if you’re not into it then I’m sure as hell not gonna force you into anything just to get my rocks off, jeez. That wouldn’t be fun for either of us.” 

Connor considers the statement briefly—2 seconds—then says, “I never said I wasn’t into it, I think.” Hank’s face freezes. “And by I think I mean I know. I reviewed our conversation.”

“Uh.” His face is still frozen halfway between bemusement and shock. “But you just said—”

“I am uncertain if I have pleasure pathways. I do not think about the matter often. I set aside the matter until you displayed interest.” He holds up three fingers—these are the three things he said, essentially—then puts them in his lap. “Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to touch every inch of your body to see how it feels.”

This is something he did not say previously. Hank’s blush had faded, but now it comes back in full force, and his heart rate skyrockets. “Oh my God,” he whispers. “Connor, fuck, you can’t say shit like that.” 

“No? It’s true, though. I also wonder, when you exit the shower without drying your hair—horrible habit, which I know you are aware of—how you might react if I traced the trail the droplets take down your chest with my tongue. Or—” 

Hank makes a noise, something like a whimper in the back of his throat. Connor perks up. He’s never heard Hank make that noise before. He quickly makes a new list dedicated to exploring actions that might evoke similar noises. “Con, _Je_ sus, that’s—are you trying to seduce me right now or something?”

Not actively, technically. He’s not sure he would know how. “Am I?” He makes a new list alongside the next one—things Hank considers seductive.

“It’s the most confusing seduction ever, if so,” Hank mumbles. Connor adds ‘talking about physical thoughts (???)’ to the list; he can test the theory later. “First you talk about how you can’t have sex, then you—”

“I said I was uncertain,” Connor corrects. “I am not averse to checking.”

“Checking. If you…can have sex.” 

“Yes.” 

“Like.” Hank puts his head in his hands, then says, muffled, “Like how.”

“I imagine it would require thorough exploration of my body. You could probably help with that, couldn’t you?” 

Hank makes another delightful noise, which is also muffled by his hands. Unfortunate. “Seriously, most confusing seduction ever.”

“Hank.” Connor rests a hand on his knee. “If you do not want to try this, I will not bring it up again. Or if you want to try it and then stop, that is also obviously an option. But—while I do not know the mechanics of all this, I love you, and I want to be able to connect with you in every way possible. If this could be another way, and all that’s stopping us is not making an attempt, then—with your consent and comfort, of course—I’d like to make that attempt. And also.” He pats Hank’s knee. “I really want to see you naked. You never let me.”

His hands stay over his face, but he peeks through his fingers at Connor, his eyes narrowed but blush giving him away. “You’re so fucking embarrassing. Me naked is not an impressive sight.”

“I do not know what you consider impressive, but I do know that whatever I would see, it would be you. I find that thought pleasing.”

Hank groans into his hands. Not one of those involuntary noises; just resigned. “God. God! Okay. But if you wanna stop we stop, okay? And—vice versa.”

“Of course.” Connor lifts his hand to tug gently at Hank’s wrists. “May I see you?” 

He gradually lets Connor pull his hands down, but doesn’t make eye contact. Connor smiles. “Much better. You know, I love your face.”

“That makes one person. Ever.” 

“I don’t love it because I had a council vote on the matter, Hank.” 

He snorts. “Okay, fair, I guess.”

“And besides, I think there are probably those out there who might feel the same.” Connor drops a light, almost thoughtful kiss above Hank’s eyebrow. “You have lovely eyes. They’re an absolutely beautiful shade of blue. Light and clear and expressive.” 

“Ha. Well—” 

“And you have wonderful cheekbones.” He kisses them too, one on each side. “They’re well-defined, and I love it when you blush enough it reaches them.”

“Hey,” Hank protests, but not really.

Connor kisses his bearded jawline, up close to his ears. “You have a strong jaw. And your beard, especially when well-maintained, is wonderful to have under my fingers. I can register each individual strand.” He presses his lips below, where the beard ends and meets his neck, then looks up at Hank. He’s staring, wide-eyed, at Connor, lips pressed together. 

Which won’t do, of course. 

Connor kisses him properly, now, on the lips. This at least he knows how to do, and it seems to put Hank a bit more at ease also—whether it’s because it’s familiar territory or because Connor can’t praise him like this, Connor is uncertain. It doesn’t really matter.

Hank kisses him deep and slow, like he did before they left for the fundraiser. It leaves Connor just as dazed—perhaps because he gasps when Hank pulls him onto his lap and that increases his thirium oxygenation levels; perhaps just because it’s Hank, kissing with desperation and an intensity that Connor thinks to himself he must usually hold back. 

When they finally part, Connor grins. “I’m rather fond of that part of your face, too, you know.”

“Shut up,” Hank says, clearly embarrassed. “Uh. You good to keep going?” 

“Yes. Though I may have to insist we hang our suits so they don’t wrinkle any further.” Connor pauses. “Also, I’m really rather set on the you being naked thing.”

“I’ll do it for the first reason and the first reason only,” Hank says, pointing at him, “Because these things were fucking expensive.”

“Same end result, so I won’t complain.” Connor gets off Hank’s lap, then extends his hand to pull him up, beaming when he takes it. They walk to the bedroom together, and Connor starts to strip. He’s efficient about it; he is distantly aware that sometimes this is a sexy thing, but he wouldn’t even begin to know how to go about making it so. Hank stops him after he takes off his jacket and hangs it up, though.

“Let me?” he says, a bit raspy, and Connor blinks. 

“I’d probably be faster.” 

“Uh. Yeah, probably, but—we don’t need to be fast, right? This, uh…shit.” He chuckles, raises the back of his hand to his neck bashfully. “I mean—even if this doesn’t end up—working out, uh…I mean, it’s your first—experience like this. And I just kinda…wanna…I don’t know. Just let me do it?”

Connor nods slowly, then angles himself towards Hank. Hank begins to undo his buttons, just as slowly, and for every two he presses a kiss to Connor’s neck. It’s not an erogenous zone for him like it is in humans—he thinks, anyway—but it makes Connor smile anyway, because he knows Hank is trying.

Eventually the shirt is completely unbuttoned, and Connor shrugs it off his shoulders to hang up next to his jacket, then takes off his undershirt and tosses it into their laundry hamper. Hank gazes at him, at all of the skin he’s uncovered, and swears quietly. “Shit, Connor, you’re so beautiful.”

Connor just steps forward and reaches for Hank’s suit jacket, carefully slides it off and hangs it up. He undoes Hank’s tie, puts it on the hanger; he unbuttons Hank’s shirt with just as much care as Hank did for him, hangs it, takes off Hank’s undershirt and inhales before he remembers he doesn’t need to. “Hank,” he says, and hopes his voice communicates the reverence he feels at being allowed to see Hank like this when it’s something he’s so clearly sensitive about. He reaches forward to brush his fingers over the tattoo on Hank’s chest, tossing the balled-up undershirt behind him.

“That didn’t get in the hamper,” Hank says, voice low and rumbling and slightly uncertain.

“I really don’t care at the moment,” Connor breathes, laying the palm of his hand flat against the tattoo. His other hand pulls Hank down into another kiss, and the feeling of Hank’s chest bare against his is a bit overwhelming. Not that he feels it, exactly, not like a human might, but he takes in information—slight variations in temperature, the pressure exerted when Hank puts one hand at the small of his back and one to run through his hair, predictive analysis about what type of injury may have inflicted which patch of scar tissue. That combined with their kiss, with all of the data from Hank’s saliva, means there’s a constant flow of information battering his processors, and he’s starting to feel a bit lightheaded. In a good way, though. He thinks.

His thought is bolstered when his vocal box makes a noise without his authorization. It’s kind of a sigh, or something, and when he hears it his eyebrows raise and he breaks apart from Hank, staring at himself with a degree of surprise. 

“Well,” he says thoughtfully. “This might actually go somewhere.”

“It’s concerning you sound so amazed by that,” Hank says, sounding gruff in a way Connor thinks is likely attributable to arousal, and isn’t that a lovely thought. “Can it maybe go to the bed?”

“Of course,” Connor says. He was planning on that. He just got distracted. “Pants first.” He removes his own pants without waiting for Hank’s input on the matter, then makes beckoning hands for Hank’s.

Hank laughs. “God, you’re bossy.”

“We both know what happened last time I tried to iron, Hank.” 

“Good point.” Hank removes his pants. They both still have underwear on—briefs for Connor, boxers for Hank—but Connor is less concerned about wrinkles there. He folds both their pants and hangs them, then looks at the undershirt lying near the hamper. 

Hank is already walking to the bed, but he looks back and snorts. “You can put it in the hamper, you know.” 

Connor immediately does so. “They’re a lot more obtrusive when I’m not as actively distracted.”

“You saying I’m distracting?” Hank is probably going for a joke, but he has that uncertain look again, like somehow he’s still not certain how alluring Connor finds him. 

“Very much so,” Connor says, moving towards the bed and climbing onto it so he can straddle Hank, who looks like he’s considering having a cardiac event. “Have you ever thought about never wearing a shirt ever?”

Hank laughs again, but now he’s looking a bit more relaxed when he says, “That sounds like the summary of a horror movie.”

Connor kisses him, then on an afterthought, kisses down to his chest tattoo also. Hank’s breathing hitches. Excellent. “Probably more like the ‘reason for dismissal’ portion of both of our notices of employment termination.”

“I get me, why you?”

Connor looks up to him. His systems passively register that his pupils have dilated. Which is fascinating given the lack of physiological need to do so, and later he might think in more depth about the utility of it, but right now he has a man to seduce confusingly. “Public indecency.” 

“Holy shit,” Hank says, and gasps when Connor reaches down to palm at Hank’s groin. “Holy _shit._ ” 

“May I take off your boxers, Hank?”

“Uhhhh,” Hank says, still staring, mouth open. “I—we still haven’t figured out if you can—”

“I have a theory about processor overload I’m working on. May I take off your boxers?”

“And that would—like—” He sucks in air through his teeth when Connor lightly brushes his fingers over the boxers in question. “God damn it, Connor. That would be good for you?” 

“Maybe. What would really be good for me would be if I could take off your boxers.” 

“I think we’re using that phrase in different ways,” Hank says breathlessly.

“Are we?” Connor keeps eye contact with Hank until he gulps. 

“Okay, fine! Fuck’s sake, you demanding—”

“I requested, actually,” Connor says pleasantly, then takes off Hank’s boxers and discards his own briefs while he’s at it. He settles in to get his first proper look at Hank fully nude. He has a dusting of gray hair on his chest, trailing down to his abdomen. There’s some fat there, which Connor was aware of already—not unexpected after Hank’s dietary lifestyle and rate of alcohol consumption for the previous three years—but he’s never seen it quite like this, sprinkled with hair, stretch marks white-pink and reflecting the light, scar tissue from knife gunshot gunshot graze. His thighs have some of those stretch marks as well, plus another tattoo, which Connor has only seen the edge of in passing. And in the center of it all is Hank’s penis, erect and pink and leaking what Connor presumes is pre-ejaculate. Connor wants to lick at it, analyze the components, let his data stores fill with only Hank.

“You’re wonderful,” Connor says, fingers swirling a pattern over the tattoo on Hank’s thigh, a golden spiral extending outward. 

Hank huffs, looking away, and Connor is delighted to find that his blush travels down to his chest, too. “You’re so fucking weird.”

“No, I—” Connor says, because he needs him to understand. “Hank, you—this body of yours. It’s wonderful. There is so much happening in every part of you. You are a complex system working admirably, and it’s all because of a combination of chance and evolution that you have this body.” He dips his head down, kisses at Hank’s chest, just above his nipple; he shifts. “Every piece of it has protected you.” The gunshot scar. “It’s scarred to heal you from injury.” A ghost of lips over his abdomen. “It’s grown with you every step of the way.” His thigh. “It’s _beautiful,_ Hank.”

When he looks back up at Hank, Hank looks like he’s not sure whether crying or screaming or no reaction at all is the appropriate response here. He’s apparently gone with the latter. “I’m really not all that,” he finally mumbles. 

“Beautiful,” Connor repeats firmly. “Because it’s yours, and because it’s worked tirelessly up to this point to carry you all the way to me. To here, right now, to give me the best man I know. The man I _love_. How could I not love your body? How could I not love you?” 

Hank doesn’t respond verbally, but he does pull Connor up to kiss him again, and his hands travel all over as he does so. Connor’s system processes each touch—in his hair, mussing it until it’s hopelessly out of place; sweeping down his back steadily with just enough pressure to mold them together; on his hips, thumb circling; on his ass, squeezing and pressing him against Hank. His processors go on overdrive analyzing and filing all the information. This is how Hank kisses when he’s aroused; this is how Hank touches him, this is how Hank’s hips thrust when Connor grinds against him; this is how Hank’s face looks when that happens, eyebrows knit together and flushed down to his shoulders. His system doggedly attempts to create new categories for the information and cross-link it all, sort it all with everything else he knows about Hank, to note every change in temperature and heart rate and every cut-off inhale Hank makes against Connor’s mouth.

“God,” Hank says breathily as he pulls off to kiss Connor’s neck again, “God, how do you even _exist,_ you’re so fucking—you say all that shit about me, but look at _you,_ God, _look_ at you,” and Connor’s voice box makes another involuntary noise, not because his neck is sensitive but because Hank’s pupils are blown and his lips are pink and he’s so, so _good,_ and he is all that and also _Connor’s._  

His processing speed is steadily declining and he’s exiting out of the error popups as soon as they come up, which is why, probably, he accidentally accepts the dialog box asking if he wants to open the diagnostic access panel in the back of his neck to check for what could be causing this processor slowdown. It slides open, and Hank startles.

“What was that?” 

“I—an access panel, I’m sorry. I accidentally—”

“Is that bad?”

“No, but—could you help me close it, perhaps? The angle is a bit—” He should be able to do it via a command, but thinking isn’t really his strong point at the moment.

“Yeah, uh—just—” Hank takes a deep breath. “How?” 

“It retracts into the side. There should be some sort of release—” Hank isn’t listening to him, though; perhaps thinking isn’t his strong point right now either, understandably so. He puts two fingers into the access panel and wiggles them around, looking for the release even though Connor hasn’t even mentioned what it looks or feels like yet. 

Which is how, very much accidentally, Hank’s fingers brush up against one of the wires in the panel—the one that connects the wires from his spine up to his central processor, he believes, but he’s barely even thinking about that through the jolt of residual electricity from Hank’s hands that disrupts his system for the barest moment and leaves him dizzy, random electrical signals jolting through his legs and into his fingers. He only catches the tail end of the loud moan his voice box gives off, how the modulator fails briefly near the end, but he catches all of how Hank stills and looks at him with a combination of wonder and pure lust.

“What the hell was that,” he says. 

“You,” Connor attempts. His modulator is still a bit off; he resets it. “You touched one of the wires that’s responsible for a lot of my, uh—you touched a wire.”

“And it…felt good?”

Connor can’t manage anything but an incredibly emphatic nod. “Yes. Very, very yes.”

Hank grins, slow and spreading and a bit devious. “Well. What was it you said earlier? This might go somewhere?”

“Can it go with you touching them again please,” Connor says, and this one, while phrased very much like a request, is really much more a demand. Hank seems to know it, too, from the way he leans forward.

“Is it safe? Like—can I do it without hurting you?” 

“Yes, just—don’t detach anything, I think. You’re just disrupting—”

“Cool,” Hank says, and goes back to the same wire and takes it between his index and thumb, giving it a very firm stroke. 

Connor’s whole body jolts downward, shudders, and he distantly registers that it means he’s thrusting against Hank’s cock, partly because of the readouts from that area but mostly because Hank groans and rests his head on Connor’s shoulder. Technically he also knows that his voice box is giving another one of those unabashed moans; his regulator gives out near the middle, so it’s distorted and a bit staticky. He knows all of this technically, but mostly he’s just concentrated on the electricity firing through his body, confused signals trying to render the wire being touched in this way into information but not having the processing speed to make sense of it all. He’s able to keep enough control to continue thrusting down against Hank, because he’s well aware by this point that Hank likes that, that he’s thrusting back up to meet him, still stroking at the wire and making more of those wonderful, wonderful noises. “Connor,” he’s gasping, “Con, _fuck_ ,” but it all feels very distant. Probably if he read one of those error popups it would say his audio processor is malfunctioning and could do with a reboot. He’s not going to bother.

“Hank,” he says, and his modulator renders it garbled and breathy. “ _Hank.”_

“You—are you close? Is that a thing? God, baby, fuck, you look _so_ good, you sound—” 

“Hank,” he repeats, because his thinking isn’t really going beyond that at the moment, and Hank kisses him, a sloppy, open-mouthed thing that only further overloads his—everything. Hank’s cock is pressed up against Connor’s stomach, and Connor reaches down to touch it, to swipe against the head so he can lick the fluid there like he wanted earlier. Hank’s mouth falls open as he draws back, gasping in shuddery breaths, and he opens his eyes just in time to see Connor put his wet fingers in his mouth and suck. 

“ _Fuck,_ ” he moans, and his hand jerks into Connor’s access panel and through his wires and _squeezes,_ and then there’s electricity all through his body and his voice box keens high and wild as his head throws back. His visual overlay fills up with confused error messages and then blacks out. Only necessary processes while his processors reboot and run diagnostics. 

When his optics come back online and his hearing filters back in, Hank is breathing raggedly, and there’s ejaculate all over his chest. “Fuck. Are you okay, Connor?”

“Yes. A couple of systems rebooted, but—I should be functional again now.” 

Hank’s hand is already free of the access panel; Connor closes it as an afterthought. He looks down at his chest and sighs. “I didn’t get to see you orgasm,” he says disappointedly, because it seems like the most relevant statement right now, and also the only thing he can think of. “Damn it.” He aggrievedly exits out of the language notification. He deserves this swear word; he was looking forward to knowing what it looked like.

Hank starts laughing; slow at first, then louder, and he slumps against Connor, head on his shoulder again. “Oh my God. We just— _that’s_ what you’re focused on?”

“Yes,” Connor says, a bit grumpy. “I wanted to see it.” 

“Shit, Connor. If it means getting to see you look and sound like that again, you can see me come as often as you like.”

Connor looks at him speculatively.

Hank is still chuckling; he puts up a hand. “Not right now. I’d probably die. Also, I don’t think I can get it up that soon. But holy shit. Guess you do have—pleasure pathways or whatever after all, right?” 

Connor considers this, then shrugs. “Close enough, yes.” Probably most humans wouldn’t register the slow shutdown of their mind and regular small electric shocks as pleasurable, but Connor has never been human.

“And you liked it?”

“Of course.” Connor pauses. “And—you did? Also?” His face might have the same uncertainty Hank’s did earlier, but—he knows, of course, that this interaction is by necessity dissimilar to any of the sexual interactions Hank may have had with previous partners. 

“Don’t be dumb,” Hank says, but his eyes are soft, and he’s got his hand on Connor’s back, rubbing some more of those slow circles. “That was amazing. And you were amazing. And this was something you shared with me, and I love you, so of course I loved this.”

Connor feels, momentarily, a small flash of annoyance at himself, for letting Hank say it first after that activity. He should have thought of it. Oh well. Hank intimated this could happen in the future, as well; he can catch up. “I love you too.” And seeing Hank’s eyes crinkle at the corners, how he smiles gently, that’s pretty good as well. Hank leans forward to kiss the tip of his nose, then his lips, still smiling. 

“I’ll get a cloth or something to clean you up. Stay right here, okay?” 

Connor nods and watches Hank get off the bed and pad to the bathroom, returning with a half-wet cloth. He wipes off Connor and then himself and throws the cloth haphazardly somewhere that might be near the hamper. 

Connor’s eyes stray towards it to check and Hank pulls him down to lie on the pillows next to him. “Come on. I’m exhausted. I know you don’t sleep, but—stay here?”

Connor nods, and lets Hank bring him close, and brings his hand to Hank’s head to slowly run his hair through his fingers. “I love you,” he says quietly, not because it is a competition but because it is the truest statement he knows how to make. 

“And I love you.” Hank’s eyes are closed, but he brings Connor still closer. “I’ll see you in the morning, yeah? Night.” 

“Goodnight, Hank,” Connor says, and he watches his face start to relax with sleep, and he starts his timer for Hank’s sleep and then sets to work. He has lists to update, and a set of files to properly link together and tag, and a number of other things to think about, but—especially, more important than any of that, he has a Hank to stay next to through the night. Maybe he’ll even wait for Hank to wake up before leaving the bed. Maybe he’ll watch Hank’s eyes flutter open from up close, and see what it is like to kiss him when he’s still sleep-pliant and relaxed.

Yes, he decides. Hank asked him to stay. That’s a gift he doesn’t intend on wasting. 

(And also they’re both rather conveniently naked right now. Perhaps he can complete the item on his to-do list that involves seeing Hank orgasm and the one that involves seeing how the sensors in his mouth react to having Hank’s cock pressed up against them for an elongated period at the same time.

He really does have very good ideas.)

**Author's Note:**

> And That's That. 
> 
> i said i'd do this and so...i did lol. i got very caught up in trying to work out how an android with no preset sex subroutines or much in the way of actual physical sensation might manage it anyway and so. that's that! that is just that, is what it is! man i normally dont have much a problem coming up with inane commentary but what do you even say after writing nearly 5k of weird android sex
> 
> anyway thanks for reading, as always! my tumblr is at [anuninterestingperson](http://anuninterestingperson.tumblr.com) if you wanna stop by; i don't have all that much dbh-specific stuff but i did do a drawing and a song for connor recently, so hey. i'm also on twitter at [@boringbibs](https://twitter.com/boringbibs)now!


End file.
